


Picking Up the Pieces

by angstytimelord



Category: Hannibal (TV)
Genre: Emotional Manipulation, M/M, Memory Alteration
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2014-03-09
Updated: 2014-08-06
Packaged: 2018-01-15 04:49:15
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 11
Words: 8,611
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/1292008
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/angstytimelord/pseuds/angstytimelord
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Will has to confront each memory that comes back to him so he can finally make peace with his past.</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Brutal Memory

He was choking. He couldn't breathe.

Will's eyes flew open; it took him a few moments to realize where he was, and when he did, he closed his eyes in relief, taking one deep breath, then another.

He was in his own bed, staring up at the ceiling. He was safe; he was mercifully alone. He wasn't staring up the length of a long tube at Hannibal Lecter's evil, grinning death's-head of a face above him as he pushed a severed ear down that tube into Will's stomach.

He wasn't facing the most horrific evil he had ever known.

The was the worst memory he had of the time when his brain had been on fire -- a memory that he wished he could put out of his mind.

That wasn't something he wanted to focus on. He knew that it had happened, and that it had been some of the most damning manufactured "evidence" that he'd been Abigail's murderer. But fortunately, it had all come out in the end that it was Hannibal's doing.

And for once, people had believed what Will was saying.

Hannibal's evil had been exposed; he was now jailed for life, with no possibility of ever being released. He'd suffered the fate that he had intended for Will.

No, not quite, Will reminded himself. Hannibal had intended for _him_ to get the death penalty. He'd wanted to watch Will die in the electric chair.

Or by lethal injection. Or whatever method they chose to dispatch him with.

But Hannibal's plan had backfired, and he'd ended up in the situation that he had wanted Will to face. His evil had been discovered, his fangs had been pulled, and now that he was behind bars, he was no longer a threat to society.

Though he was still a dangerous man, Will told himself. He could still manage to manipulate people, even from the position he was in now.

Hannibal would always be the epitome of evil.

He had almost been caught up in that evil, had almost met his end because of it. Will was sure that there were other horrible memories where this one had come from, buried in his subconscious, and that they would all come rushing out one day.

At this point, only one had surfaced. But this memory was a horrible, brutal one, a memory that he didn't want to dwell on.

But it was hard to push something so horrific away and forget about it.

With any luck, all of what Hannibal had done to him would come to the surface eventually, and he would be able to deal with it, face those issues down, and put them all behind him, he told himself as he turned over onto his side and snuggled into the comfortable pillows.

He just hoped that he'd be able to cope with those memories when they finally chose to surface.


	2. One Small Piece

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Ever so slowly, the pieces of Will's memory are coming together to give him a complete picture.

It all felt like a dream -- but he knew that it wasn't.

That nightmare that he kept having where Hannibal forced a tube down his throat -- that hadn't been a dream. It was a memory that came back to haunt him, a memory that was just one of the pieces his subconscious was trying to let him view in the cold light of day.

None of those little flashes of memory was a dream. He hated to admit that he'd been so fooled by Hannibal's lies and manipulations, but he obviously had been.

How had he ever believed that such a monster was his _friend_?

Because he'd been manipulated into believing it, lulled by words that were completely untrue into believing that he was cared for and admired.

But all along, that had been a lie, Will reminded himself grimly. Hannibal had never admired him -- that hideous monster had only wanted to use him as a patsy to cover up his own crimes. He had never been anything more than a means to an end.

Well, now all of that was over, and Hannibal's crimes had been uncovered.

He never had to deal with the bastard again, and good riddance. He never wanted to look into that horribly ugly, reptilian, death's-head of a face again.

He hoped that he'd never have to be face-to-face with Hannibal again. He wanted to let their acquaintance become distant, like a barely-remembered dream.

But the time he'd spent with Hannibal hadn't been a dream. It was all too real.

No dream could he as horrible as the memories his mind could now click into place -- Hannibal forcing a tube down his throat to plant "evidence" of Will's guilt in his stomach, Hannibal manipulating his thoughts, keeping him unaware of his illness for so long.

He had been Hannibal's puppet for far too long. It was a position that he never wanted to be in again. No one would ever get away with that again, Will vowed. Never.

Once had been more than enough.

It still stung, the humiliation of being used like that. And it probably always would. But at least he'd been able to escape from it, and the _real_ monster was now behind bars.

He still needed to put all of the pieces neatly back into place before he would have a complete picture of himself and who he was again. But at least the dreams -- no, the _memories_ \-- were bringing those pieces back, a little at a time.

One small piece at a time. One by one, and then he would finally be whole again.


	3. Confronting His Memories

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Will hopes that spending time alone in Hannibal's house will bring some of his buried memories back to the surface.

He'd never been alone in this house before.

It felt strange to be alone here, walking through Hannibal's former home with no calm, cool presence beside him to guide him through. 

Will looked around him, feeling strangely impersonal, divorced from his surroundings. So much had happened here, so much that he probably wasn't aware of. He'd had a few small pieces of memory return, but the gaps in his consciousness hadn't all been filled.

How long would it be before that happened? He had no way of knowing. He might never recover all of those memories, and he wasn't sure if he wanted to.

Some of those memories were horribly frightening, and he wasn't sure if he wanted them to come to the surface and bring all of that terror with them, even though he knew he had to have them fixed in his mind to put all of the pieces back together again.

But still, facing those memories would be one of the hardest things he'd ever done. He was afraid to view them, afraid of how they would make him feel.

Will took a deep breath, closing his eyes.

He couldn't let himself be afraid of those memories, couldn't shrink away from them. He had to keep telling himself that Hannibal was now behind bars now.

Hannibal couldn't get to him. That monster had no control over his life now; Hannibal couldn't hurt him any more. There was nothing Hannibal could do to him, nothing that he could whisper into Will's ear that would take over his thoughts.

Oh, he might _try_ , Will told himself. But he wouldn't succeed. The days of Hannibal Lecter being able to pull the wool over his unsuspecting eyes were over.

Being alone in Hannibal's house felt very strange; he kept expecting the other man to show up at any moment, to see that ugly, reptilian face looming out of the shadows next to him. Will shuddered at that thought; he never wanted to see Hannibal again.

He knew that he _would_ see his nemesis eventually. The man who had pretended to be his friend held too many of the answers that Will needed to put the broken pieces of who he was back together; he'd have to talk to Hannibal at some point.

The last thing he wanted to do was to face that grinning death's-head face again, but he had to. He couldn't work out his memories alone.

Will sighed at the thought, wishing that there was some way he could get those memories to come back into his mind in one piece, so that it would all be there in front of him, with no gaps and no question marks. But that wasn't going to be possible.

No, there was too much that he didn't know, and it might all be far too overwhelming if he had to take it in all at once, in one fell swoop.

He was better off if those memories came back slowly, gradually.

Then, he would be able to go through all of them in his own time, neatly inserting them back into the fabric of who he was, and who he wanted to be.

He wandered through the house, not touching anything, simply looking around and letting the memories of his talks with Hannibal seep in. He wanted to remember more, but those recollections were frustratingly just out of reach, just around the next corner.

If he kept this up, he was only going to get more frustrated. Being in this house wasn't having the requisite effect on his memory that he'd hoped it would.

Will moved towards the front door, then turned to look behind him. He should go into the kitchen; that was where most of the horror in this house lay, now that he knew what Hannibal was and some of the things that he had done. That was what he had to confront.

He shuddered as he slowly turned around, moving towards the kitchen, the scene of so much of the horror from his nightmares, with measured steps.

Maybe it was a good thing that he was alone. So no one would see his fear.


	4. Looking For Secrets

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Will is sure that there are secrets hidden in Hannibal's house that no one has uncovered yet.

He had never liked this kitchen.

There was something about it that never felt quite right to him, Will thought with a shudder as he looked around. It just felt .... _evil_.

He'd never been allowed to spend much time in here, but he wasn't exactly sure _why_. He knew that Hannibal kept his kitchen immaculate, but somehow, he didn't think that was the only reason that the other man had never wanted him to poke around in this room.

If Hannibal was hiding something, this didn't seem to be the place to do so. Who hid things in a kitchen? And what could he hide here that was so important?

He'd never really felt as though he wanted to spend time in here, not really. Hannibal somehow seemed far too attached to this kitchen, and that had made Will feel uncomfortable. He'd almost felt jealous, as though Hannibal's kitchen was his rival in some ways.

That was ridiculous, wasn't it? There had been no reason for him to have felt jealous of a _place_ just because Hannibal had liked to spend time here.

Still, this room held a sense of foreboding.

Will frowned as he looked over at the door that led to the walk-in freezer. Hannibal always kept that locked; he'd never told Will why.

Something in him didn't want to go into that freezer. He couldn't say exactly why, but it just felt .... _wrong_. He didn't want to see what was there; some sort of sixth sense told him that he didn't want to confront whatever was there while he was alone.

Will tried to scoff at that sense of foreboding, to tell himself that there was no reason for him to be afraid. It was only a freezer; what could possibly be in there to scare him?

Knowing Hannibal, it could be anything.

Maybe that was where he kept the bodies of his victims, Will thought with a shudder. If it was, then he _had_ to look, to make sure that he was right.

Then he had to call Jack, and get the FBI here. If he was right about this, then they would have more than enough to keep Hannibal behind bars for the rest of his life. He didn't think that Hannibal would ever be freed, but he wanted to be absolutely sure.

They'd found concrete evidence of Hannibal's crimes, enough to put him away. But Will wanted to expose all of what Hannibal had done, bring it all into the light.

He wanted to find all of the monster's secrets and show them to the world. It was .... his revenge. A revenge that would taste extremely sweet. It was what had driven him to this house, looking for secrets that he wasn't even sure he was going to find.

He was sure that he'd find _something_. There had to be secrets hidden here that no one had been able to uncover yet, and Will was sure that he was the person to find them. He just hoped that he didn't find more bodies, not when he was here on his own.

What bothered Will the most was that they had only found _parts_ of bodies so far. They'd never found one complete body. Only pieces.

What could Hannibal have done with the rest of them? He thought he knew, but that idea was so horrifying that he didn't want to give it credence. He didn't want to believe that he could have actually thought anyone who could do something like that had been his _friend_.

Hannibal wasn't his friend, Will told himself. He didn't know how to be anyone's friend. He only knew how to lie and manipulate for his own advantage.

There had never been a true friendship between them.

Hannibal would say otherwise, but that was a lie. Hannibal might have thought that they had some kind of twisted friendship, but Will knew better.

The man repulsed him. He didn't even want to call Hannibal a man; knowing that he was the Chesapeake Ripper, and knowing that he had tried to set Will up to die for the crimes that he'd committed, only drove home the fact that Hannibal was a monster.

He almost turned away, almost headed back towards the front door and out of the house. But something made him move towards the freezer, step by slow step.

He felt as though he was in a daze, not in control of his own actions.

Will stopped with his hand on the handle of the freezer door, wondering if it was still locked. If it was, then he'd call Jack, and get people over here to open it.

He hoped that it _was_ locked. Something told him that he didn't want to walk into that freezer alone, that whatever might be hidden behind this heavy steel door was something that he didn't want to have to face on his own, that it would be too much for him.

But he _had_ to go inside. He had to know what secrets Hannibal kept hidden in there, even if they'd be so unsettling that he would never forget them.

Still, it was almost impossible for him to open the door. He stood there, frozen in place, unable to tug at the handle. After a few moments, he forced himself to do so, hoping that the door would be firmly locked and he wouldn't be able to find the key.

But to Will's surprise, the door swung open easily, silently, on well-oiled hinges. Steeling himself, he took one step forward, then another.

And stopped short, his jaw dropping open, his eyes widening in shock.


	5. Proof

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Will finds absolute proof of Hannibal's guilt.

Will's hand shook as he pulled the door of the freezer open all the way.

that first glimpse hadn't been wrong, he told himself as he stepped into the freezer, making sure that the door was open wide behind him. 

How many bodies were here? He couldn't count them all. It would be impossible, Will told himself. At least, it would be for one lone person. It looked as though there were enough body parts for .... hundreds of them. Well, maybe not _that_ many, but at least dozens.

He wondered how many people Hannibal had killed, how many deaths the person he'd trusted and had been stupid enough to call his friend was responsible for.

it was obvious that he hadn't confined himself to only the Chesapeake Ripper murders.

So many bodies, Will told himself as he moved further into the freezer. Hanging from the ceiling, displayed on tables. But hardly any of them were intact.

There were mostly _parts_ of bodies. Arms, legs, a torso. A head here and there. He closed his eyes, starting to feel a little faint. He saw death around him nearly every day when he was working in the field, but not like this. Never like this.

This wasn't just death. This was .... an absolute _pleasure_ in death. It was horrible and obscene; it made his stomach churn.

Hannibal had prepared all these people as food, had turned them into meals. Will felt his stomach turn over, as though he might throw up at any moment. He closed his eyes, stopping in his tracks, trying to hold the feeling back. He wasn't going to be sick. Not now.

He was going to see this through; he was going to look at all of the death and destruction that Hannibal had wrought before he called Jack and the FBI in here.

This was it. This was what would put Hannibal behind bars for life.

There was no way that clever monster would be able to talk his way out of this. He was done, finished. He couldn't explain away all of these bodies -- all of these body _parts_ \-- with a wave of his hand and a few well-chosen words.

No, he was well and truly caught this time.

There was no rationalizing what he had done here. There was no way he could blame this on something else -- not when it had been discovered in a room in his own house.

Will moved further into the freezer, steadying himself as he looked around. He couldn't think of these dead bodies as people; he had to look at them impersonally, not let any of his own emotions creep in .He had to see this as work, and not as a personal outrage.

There seemed to be tables in the back -- and there were many more body parts splayed out on top of them, as well as one that seemed nearly intact.

Will couldn't stop himself; he had to move nearer, had to see the body on that table. His feet carried him to the table, his eyes widening in horror as he approached.

Long, dark hair that he recognized, though the face was nearly gone, carved away until only the skull and small, clinging bits of flesh remained. That was Bloom's hair. He would know it anywhere. This was her body, carved up into pieces.

He had known when she disappeared so suddenly that she hadn't gone to California to visit a friend. She'd been murdered by the man she was sleeping with.

He'd known all along. He just hadn't been able to say anything at the time.

Here was proof. Conclusive proof. He had no doubt that when they did DNA testing, this body would prove to be hers. They would finally know what had happened to her, after three weeks of searching. She could be put to rest, have a decent burial.

He had warned her, and she hadn't listened to him.

Will recoiled in horror from what he was seeing, his mind not quite able to process that this had been one of his friends, a person he had known and worked with.

Turning, he groped his way back to the front of the freezer, closing his eyes as he leaned against the open door, taking deep breaths. He wasn't going to be sick. What he had seen was horrific, but he wasn't going to lose it. He was more professional than that.

The horror at seeing someone he had once known reduced to nothing more than a faceless body on a slab was what got to him more than anything else.

Will raised his head, squaring his shoulders. The horror of what he had just seen wasn't going to affect him, any more than the horror of some of the more gruesome crime scenes he'd been at did. He was going to keep his professional demeanor, no matter what.

This would be the final proof. This was what would cement Hannibal's standing as a psychopath, and keep him behind bars for the rest of his days.

He'd found the proof that he was looking for. Irrefutable, incontrovertible proof.

Hannibal had murdered someone who worked with the FBI. Though he'd probably done the same in the past, this time, he'd finally been caught.

He couldn't escape the net that closed in on him now. And Will would be the one to expose him, to show the world how Hannibal had murdered Bloom, and prove to everyone exactly what he was. That would be sweet justice indeed.

Will didn't look back as he stumbled out of the freezer; there was no need for him to. He knew that what he had just seen would stay with him for a lifetime.

He'd seen some horrific crimes, but this was one of the worst.

Closing the freezer door behind him, he sat down in one of the kitchen chairs, taking his phone out of his pocket. It was only then that he realized how badly his hands were shaking; he hoped that his voice wouldn't do the same when he spoke to Jack.

He dialed, heard the other man pick up, and took a deep breath before he began to speak.


	6. Should've Known

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Will can't help but feel that he should have known -- or at least guessed -- how evil Hannibal was right from the start.

What had he been eating when he'd had dinner with Hannibal?

Will felt as though he wanted to throw up, but he couldn't lose control here and now, with the FBI swarming all over Hannibal's house.

At first, he'd been unable to completely believe what his mind was telling him. He had known that Hannibal was a murderer; he'd believed that for a long time. But now, he had proof that the other man was a cannibal, as well. It couldn't be denied.

When he had been in jail, he'd had visions of Hannibal eating people, but he hadn't thuoght that they were true. He'd put them down to dreams mixing with reality.

Now he knew that those hadn't been dreams; he'd actually been seeing into what Hannibal really was. His mind had shown him those horrifying visions to give him a clear picture of the man who was his nemesis, to tell him the whole story.

He had no choice but to believe in what he'd seen. There was no reason not to. His mind had been giving him the unvarnished truth all along.

In some ways, he was just as guilty as Hannibal.

Oh, not of the killing. He would never do something like that; his mind, his very soul revolted at the idea of murdering all those innocent people.

But he had eaten meals with Hannibal, meals that hadn't been what he'd thought they were. The thought of _that_ made his stomach heave; he had to close his eyes and draw in several deep breaths, to remind himself that he couldn't indulge his feelings right now.

Just the thought of all that Hannibal had done, all that he'd taken part in so unknowingly, made him hate himself, though he knew that he had no reason to.

He had, after all, been innocent of any crime.

He hadn't _known_ that he was eating people. He hadn't known that Hannibal was a cannibal, that he thought nothing of making a meal ofa human being.

No one had known. How could they? Hannibal had hidden what he was so cleverly, so skillfully, that the only way Will had guessed at his true nature was through visions that very well could have been dreams, an unconscious wish to make Hannibal seem worse than he really was.

Will shook his head as though to clear it. He hadn't thought that Hannibal could seem any worse, but he had been so utterly wrong about that.

That was hard to believe; he'd never been so mistaken about someone before. But he had let his so-called "friendship" with Hannibal blind him for far too long.

Hannibal was good at that, at dissembling and misleading. He was very good at turning on the charm, at making people believe that he was something completely alien from what he actually was. He wore a human mask, a mask that had now been ripped to shreds.

Will knew that he should feel proud of himself for being the one to rip that mask away, but he couldn't. All he could feel was horror, and disgust at himself.

He should have known. He should have _seen_.

His empathy, that trait that so many made so much of, had failed him at the very time when he'd needed it most. He hadn't seen a killer until it was far too late.

It didn't matter that Hannibal Lecter was now behind bars, and that he would stay there for the rest of his life, thanks to what Will had discovered today. What mattered was all the people who had needlessly been slaughtered, the lives that Will had failed to save.

People that he had known were among them. He didn't care about Bloom, but Beverly Katz had been one of those victims, and she'd been a friend.

She had died because she'd been helping _him_.

He would always have a hard time forgiving himself for that. Of course, he couldn't have stopped Hannibal; he'd been in prison at the time.

But he would always feel as though he had sent Beverly to her death -- and there was no telling what part of her body Hannibal had cooked and eaten. There had been organs missing; Will didn't doubt what had become of them. Especially not now.

He didn't know if there were parts of Bloom's body missing or not. He hadn't looked thoroughly; all he was sure of was that the faceless body in that freezer was hers.

Strangely, he felt nothing, no regrets for her death save the universal regret of a human life needlessly lost. He had no personal feelings about her at all; since she had begun sleeping with Hannibal, she'd been stricken from his list of people he thought of as friends.

She had always believed that _he_ was a killer, right until the very end. He hoped that she'd come to realization that she had been wrong right before she died.

Still, her death meant nothing to him in the personal sense.

Had he eaten a part of Bloom? She had been missing for a few days when Hannibal had been taken to jail. Had he served parts of her body up in meals?

Will thought back over those few days, and was relieved to realize that he hadn't eaten with Hannibal in that time. So he could safely say that he hadn't consumed anyone he knew personally; it was bad enough to knwo that at some point, he'd eaten strangers.

He had eaten people. The knowledge of it was making his stomach roil; he wouldn't be able to hold back his physical reaction for much longer.

He needed to get out of here, before he embarrassed himself.

The last thing he wanted to do was throw up at a crime scene, even though he was in the kitchen, not the freezer. It would still be seen as being unprofessional.

Will stood up slowly, knowing that if he moved quickly, he _would_ lose it. He didn't want anyone to see him being sick; he didn't want them to guess where his thoughts were leading. Jack probably would, but then again, Jack had eaten at Hannibal's home, too.

Jack would know just how he was feeling, and they would talk about these new developments at some point, when they weren't both feeling sickened by them.

Would he ever _not_ feel sick at the thought?

Will didn't think so. Suddenly, all he wanted was to get out of here, to go outside where he could be sick in peace and, hopefully, feel better, at least physically. It was all starting to catch up with him, and the reaction was setting in with a vengeance.

He headed for the door to the back garden, praying that he'd make it outside in time.


	7. Miasma

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Just being in Hannibal's house makes Will feel dirty.

Just thinking of the time he'd spent with Hannibal made him feel dirty.

Will shuddered at the remembrance of all the time he'd spent in this house before he had found out just what Hannibal, feeling safe and secure.

How had he _ever_ felt safe in this house? How had he ever thought that such a horrific monster could have been his _friend_? What had been wrong with him at the time, that he hadn't been able to see any kind of warning signs?

Because he hadn't been looking for them, he told himself. He hadn't thought that someone like Hannibal Lecter would turn out to be so .... _inhuman_.

Will felt a wave of revulsion sweep over him.

How could anyone who'd had any personal contact with Lecter not feel dirty after they found out about this? And the truth _would_ come out. It had to.

There was no way that the FBI could keep this under wraps. And really, they shouldn't. The world should know about Hannibal's crimes, know what kind of a demon the city of Baltimore had harbored in its midst without having any clue as to what he was.

People deserved to know what kind of terrors could exist in the world, so that maybe they would have the chance to defend themselves against those horrors.

Will made his way back through the house, heading for the front door. The place was now swarming with police, and with FBI agents.

He didn't want to see what was in that freezer again. Once had been more than enough. He knew now just what kinds of horrors this house had held when he had been in it, and at the moment, all he wanted was to get out and to never have to come back here.

If he ever came back into this house, it would be too soon. This place would only have evil connotations for him now. It would never feel comfortable again.

He wanted to go home and shower, to slough the miasma of the place off his body.

He'd feel a lot better once he was in his own home, with his dogs, away from this place and all of the bad memories it held for him, Will told himself firmly.

One he could get home, take a shower, and settle down, he could start pushing the memories of this place away from him, and he'd feel a lot better. Though he doubted that he would ever be able to think of the time he'd spent here in a good light from this day forward.

And he also doubted that it would be a while before he could eat anything without thinking of Hannibal, and wonder just what he might have eaten before.

The thought made him not only feel dirty, but sick.


	8. Black Sky

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> The darkness of a cloudy, rainy day matches Will's mood in the aftermath of Hannibal's conviction.

The sky was black today. It suited his mood.

He should feel glad, Will told himself as he slowly sat down on his living room couch. It had been a good day. Hannibal's final sentence had been pronounced. It was over.

The man he'd come to see as nothing but a monster would spend the rest of his life behind bars, without any possibility of seeing the outside world again. He would never have his freedom, and that, for Hannibal, would be a fate worse than death.

But somehow, even though he had won in the end, it felt like a hollow victory. There was really no justice for all those whose lives Hannibal had taken.

They would never have the satisfaction of knowing that their killer was behind bars. They were beyond that now, unknowing as to what had happened after they were dispatched from this realm. Will wished that they had some way of knowing that they'd been avenged.

Or had they? he asked himself. Hannibal still lived and breathed, while they didn't. They would never have the chance to live their lives because of him.

that didn't seem like justice at all. Not in his eyes.

Abigail should have been able to live her life, he thought, tears coming to his eyes. She'd been a teenager, with that life stretching ahead of her. She should have been able to grow up, fall in love, get married, have a family. She should have had a normal life.

Would that ever have happened? he thought bleakly. Or had Garrett Jacob Hobbs destroyed any chance of that long before he'd met Abigail?

He doubted that she would ever have been what the world would call a "normal" girl, but he'd liked for her to have had the chance to try. He'd liked to have seen her grow up into a young woman, to become someone he could have had a lifelong friendship with.

Hannibal had taken that chance away from them both.

And Beverly. There were still times when he wanted to sob at the loss of his friend, the one person who had believed in him when no one else had.

That belief had cost Beverly her life. She had gone to Hannibal's house on that fateful day, looking for proof tha Will was innocent. She'd found that proof, and Hannibal had gone to great lengths to make sure that she didn't show it to anyone else.

Hannibal had, as usual, protected himself. That his actions had been one cause of Will getting out of jail, proving that he wasn't the Chesapeake Ripper, had only been a side effect.

Hannibal hadn't given a damn if he was freed or not.

He had only wanted to protect himself, to throw people off his trail, as he'd done so often in the past. That was why Will had been in jail in the first place.

The day that he'd found out about Beverly's death had been a black, rainy day, as well, Will remembered. It had been a day when everything had seemed to close in around him, when he'd felt such a horrible sense of hopelessness that he'd wondered if living was even worth it.

He'd felt so cold on that day. He'd huddled in his jail cell, curled up in a corner of the small bed, wondering if he would ever be able to feel warmth again.

There were still times when he awakened at night with Beverly's face in his mind, feeling guilty that _he_ had been the one to send her to her death.

But he had _told_ her not to go to Hannibal's house alone, and she'd done it anyway. He'd told her to be careful, to watch out for Hannibal, to be cautious. She had thrown caution to the winds, and she had paid for that lack of caution with her life.

If only she had listened to him, been more cautious, then she might well be here now, rather than ending up as a statistic, one of Hannibal's many victims.

But at least her killer was now behind bars, where he belonged.

Hannibal wouldn't hurt anyone again. He had no power now; it had all been taken away from him. He was nothing more than a rat in a cage.

That rat would never find freedom again. He would never know what it was like to walk in the light, without walls and chains and guards around him. He would never take another life, never victimize another person. This time, the good guys had won.

Will took a deep breath, sinking back into the couch cushions and trying to relax. It had been a long day, a day that had been fraught with tension.

In the end, he at least had something of a sense of satisfaction.

At least he knew that he'd been able to stop Hannibal from hurting any other people, that he'd been one of the people who was instrumental in being sure that monster was kept behind bars for the rest of his life. That was something, at least.

But he wanted more. He wanted Hannibal to know the dread, the horror and fear, that his victims must have felt when he was dispatching their lives.

He wanted Hannibal to suffer, as Beverly and Abigail must have suffered. He wanted that hideous, horrible, worthless monster to know just what it was to feel pain, to feel horror, to feel the hopelessness of knowing that his life was virtually over.

He wanted Hannibal's life to _be_ over.

Putting him in jail didn't seem like nearly enough of a payback, not after all the lives he had taken, after all the misery he had caused so many people.

There were so many families who had lost loved ones due to Hannibal's atrocities, so many people whose lives had been shattered. They could never get back those who they had loved; they could never feel that justice had truly been served as long as Hannibal lived.

That bastard was still breathing, when so many who hadn't deserved to die were dead by his hand. That didn't seem like justice to Will at all.

The sky had been bleak and cloudy when he'd come out of the courthouse, intermittently spitting rain down on the pavement. He'd walked to his car in a daze, driven home with images from the trial still spinning in his head, and his thoughts a jumbled tangle.

He still wasn't sure just how he felt. Yes, there had been some semblance of justice done today. At least now Hannibal was behind bars for good.

That had to count for something, even if it didn't feel like much of an ending.

Will let his breath out slowly, trying to feel as though a victory had been scored today. In a way, it _was_ a victory. But in his heart, it wasn't enough.

It had to be enough, at least for now. He had the satisfaction of knowing that Hannibal Lecter would grow old behind bars. But the people whose lives he'd so callously and brutally ended would never grow old. They would never be able to live their lives through.

That was a tragedy, in every way. So the black sky that hovered over them today suited his mood, as well as feeling like a fitting backdrop to all that had happened.

Will wondered if the sky would ever look blue and cloudless again.


	9. Prisoner

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> In spite of Hannibal being behind bars, Will still feels as though he's the one who's been defeated.

He had won. In the end, he had won.

Hannibal was in jail, and he was free. He had exposed a monster, put him behind bars, where he belonged. He was a hero to a lot of people.

But had he really won? Will asked himself. He felt as though he had lost everything; there was no longer any center to his world, nothing for him to cling to. He had lost what he had begun to think of as his rock, his only stability in a world that constantly changed around him.

Hannibal had been his oasis of quiet in a stormy sea; he had depended on their sessions, their talks. They'd made him feel as though someone cared.

Of course, that had never been the truth.

He had thought Hannibal understood him, or at least wanted to _try_ to understand. That had made him feel safe, as though he had someone to count on.

Will was nothing but an experiment to Hannibal; he had never been anything other than just another idiot to manipulate, to use, to see how far Hannibal could push him, how much he could twist until his new toy broke and was unable to be repaired.

He wasn't going to try to fool himself into believing that he had ever meant anything more than that. Such a monster wasn't capable of caring, or even understanding.

That was why he felt so defeated now, when he should feel victorious. Hannibal might have lost everything, but so had Will. And his loss seemed much greater.

He'd lost people he cared about; he had lost memories that he should be able to regain, but which were more than likely lost forever in the mists of his mind. He had lost so much more than Hannibal ever would, even though Hannibal had lost his freedom.

Hannibal still had his mind and his memories intact; he could still manipulate people whenever he had the chance. And really, that was all he lived for.

He would always be a user, whether he was behind bars or not.

He'd managed to use Will, to manipulate him for his own devious ends, even to almost take his life. And yet, Will was the still the one who felt defeated.

Until he got those memories back, the memories that Hannibal had robbed him of, he would never feel that he had been the victor in this game, Will thought with a sigh. He would always feel that sense of defeat; he would always know that Hannibal had, in a way, bested him.

Hannibal might be the one behind bars, but Will felt that _he_ was the one living in a cage -- the prison of his own mind, a mind with gaps that might never be filled.

He was more a prisoner than Hannibal would ever be.


	10. His Cross To Bear

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Lighting candles in a church in memory of people he's lost gives Will some momentary comfort.

What was he doing here in a church?

It had been a long time since he'd been in a place like this, Will thought, taking a few steps forward. Religion had never been something that he took comfort in.

Least of all since he'd started working in law enforcement, and had seen all of the horrible things that people could do to each other -- some of them in the name of religion. For him, it offered no succor; it only pointed out the hypocrisy of the human race.

But for some reason, he'd felt the need to come here tonight. To a Catholic church, at that, he thought, his lips twisting wryly, when he wasn't even Catholic.

But there was something about the ritualistic atmosphere of a Catholic church that felt comforting to him at the moment. He wasn't going to question that feeling, and he wasn't going to fall headlong into religion. He was just going to take that comfort where he could find it.

The candles and incense, the feeling of being in a safe place, was something that he needed right now. He wasn't going to turn his back on those needs.

He might not share the beliefs of this church, but he could appreciate them.

Why did lighting candles for the people who were no longer in his life because of Hannibal's evil feel like the right thing to do? He didn't have an answer for that; it was enough that he'd felt the need to come here to this church to do just that.

Will didn't want to question his motives. He didn't want to ask why he suddenly felt the need to light those candles, to be in a church, to feel _safe_.

Hannibal was in jail. He knew that. The monster was locked up and carefully guarded; he wasn't suddenly going to break out and go on a bloody rampage. He wasn't going to kill any more people. This was real life, not a fantastical horror movie.

But Will still couldn't help feeling uneasy.

In the last months, Hannibal had turned his life into a horror movie. That monster had killed so many people he had known, people he had cared for, people who he wished could still be a part of his life, people who he desperately wanted to still have around.

He'd destroyed lives, friendships, families. Hannibal was nothing but a destroyer; there wasn't one spark of human decency within him.

Just thinking of all the lives he'd destroyed almost made Will want to sink to his knees and cry. He hadn't been able to prevent Hannibal from taking those lives; he had realized far too late just what that monster was, that he was a demon who wore a human mask.

There he was again, equating Hannibal with some fantastical creature. No, he wasn't a demon; he was a man, albeit a twisted, perverted one.

And being a man, he had eventually made mistakes. His own hubris and belief that he couldn't be caught had tripped him up, and given Will the opening he'd needed.

It was a victory for the good guys, Will told himself with a sigh, but it was still a hollow victory. It had come at such a high price; he himself had been changed irrevocably, and so many lives had been lost, lives that shouldn't have been taken.

The only thing that he could do now that they were gone was to honor those lives, and not forget the people he had known and lost to that monster's evil.

Slowly, carefully, Will took two candles from the altar, lighting them and fitting them into holders. One for Beverly, and one for Abigail. He would come here and light these candles, keep their memories alive in his heart. He would never forget the two of them.

Hannibal couldn't take the good memories of them away from him.

Abigail, who he could have been a father to, who had needed him -- and who he had let down in so many ways. And Beverly, who had lost her life trying to prove his innocence. They would both live on in his heart and in his memory; he would never let them fade away.

They had both meant so much to him, in different ways. They had been two of the very few people he had trusted -- and they had trusted him, too.

By taking so long to realize just what Hannibal was, Will felt that he had let down so many people who had cared about him, so many people who had needed his help and his protection. Even people who he didn't know, people who had been Hannibal's victims.

If he had seen behind the mask sooner, they would still be alive.

No, he couldn't keep doing that. He couldn't let himself take sole responsibility for not stopping Hannibal's murders sooner; it wasn't his fault.

Hannibal was clever; he had known how to pull the wool over everyone's eyes. He'd been able to hide behind that mask of humanity for far too long; Will wasn't surprised that no one had ripped off that mask sooner, and exposed Hannibal in all his monstrous evil.

Well, it was done now. _He_ had been the one to rip that mask away, and the world would be a better place now that Hannibal was safely locked away behind bars.

He could be proud of himself for doing that, even if it had taken him far too much time to know what had been hidden underneath that mask. Once he'd found out, he'd done all that he could to strip it away, to prove that his words were the truth.

He'd come here periodically and light candles not only for the people he had lost, but for himself, as well. He might need those candles to help guide him through the future.

He was still navigating a dark, uncertain path.

Will didn't know where that path would lead him. But he _did_ know that he had been changed by all of this, changed in ways that he couldn't even begin to comprehend yet. And he knew that those changes would stay with him far into the future -- and for all of his life.

Hannibal Lecter had gotten under his skin, and that would forever be his cross to bear.


	11. A Dead-End Road

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Will realizes that his relationship with Hannibal was always going to lead him to a dead end.

He should have known that his friendship with Hannibal would come to a dead end.

It had been written in the stars from the beginning, hadn't it? Will thought wryly, his lips twisting in a parody of a smile. They'd never been intended to be friends.

It figured that just when he'd found someone who seemed to understand him so completely, that person would turn out to be the kind of conscienceless monster who he'd dedicated his life to tracking down and putting behind bars.

Why had he ever thought that he could find someone who understood him, someone who could truly be his friends without any reservations?

He should have known better, Will berated himself. He should have known that no one could truly be that friends he'd always looked for, that person who would accept him unreservedly, who would understand him without requiring explanations.

He'd wanted to believe that Hannibal was that person, had wanted to believe it so much that he had almost let himself be fooled. And look where that had gotten him.

Just another dead end, like so many others in his life.

Now that he had his memories back, now that he knew what Hannibal had done to him -- and had fathomed most of the reasons for it -- that still didn't make things any better.

He still had an insatiable need to know _exactly_ why, but he knew that he would never get Hannibal to reveal those reasons.

No, his nemesis would keep playing mind games with him, on into the future, for the rest of their lives. Will would never be able to get inside his head, not in the way that he'd managed to get into Will's. He simply didn't have the wherewithal for it that Hannibal did.

Hannibal had always been good at playing mind games, he thought, with another mirthless smile. That was his forté -- getting inside people's heads.

He'd certainly done a number on Will's head -- but he'd wised up when he was in jail, even though all of his memories still hadn't come back to him.

He would never forgive Hannibal for taking those memories from him, for clouding his mind and keeping him in the dark for so long. Even now, maybe each and every memory hadn't come back to him in crystal clarity -- but he knew enough, and he would piece together the rest.

And now, he knew what Hannibal was. He knew that he had stood face to face with pure, unadulterated evil -- and he'd beaten it back.

He could be proud of himself for that. He'd put Hannibal in jail, where he belonged -- even though it had been exceedingly hard for him to do.

It had signaled the end of his feeling as though anyone understood him.

Yes, Hannibal might still understand him in some ways, but Will could never look at them as being friends again. They'd never really _been_ friends.

Hannibal had used him and manipulated him; that had been the crux of their so-called "friendship" all along. As long as Hannibal could manipulate him, then he'd considered Will a friend. But when he couldn't pull the wool over Will's eyes any longer, he'd become a liability.

That friendship had been a dead end all along. It had been inevitable that they would stand on opposite sides of the fence, never to be reconciled.

Now here he was, a free man, and Hannibal was in jail. The tables had turned, and things were as they should be, at long last. Still, there was a sense of desolation within Will, one that he didn't think he would ever manage to overcome.

He'd never find anyone who understood him. He would always be on the outside looking in; he'd always be left at the end of a dead-end road.

He might as well get used to that feeling, because it was never going to change.


End file.
